


Melancholia (Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader)

by cherryglazerr



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bad Girl! Reader, Cunnilingus, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Good Friend, Parental Issues, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25008964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryglazerr/pseuds/cherryglazerr
Summary: You’re the edgy, punk outcast. He’s your goofy chemistry nerd of a roommate. Naturally, you fall for him.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader
Comments: 20
Kudos: 435





	Melancholia (Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of work delves quite heavily into mental health issues, parental neglect and such. The reader's character uses unhealthy coping mechanisms such as heavy drinking and smoking as coping mechanisms. Such material could be triggering, so please continue reading at your own risk.

Exhaling a puff of smoke, you gaze listlessly at the dull concrete, stretching on endlessly over the expanse of Tokyo. Dense, gloomy clouds loom over the city, sending heavy showers that splatter down on the grimy roads, pooling into murky puddles. It was as if the entire world had been covered by a blanket of dreary grey. 

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? The monsoons always calm me down - almost as if the rains wash away all our worries and let the world start afresh.” 

Glancing behind you, you see your roommate stepping into the tiny balcony, closing the door behind him before turning to you with a teasing smile.

“Mind if I join you? Or are you doing that thing where you pretend you’re a character out of _Dostoevsky_ , all broody and introspective on a rainy day?” 

Putting out the cigarette, you chuckle lightly, teasing back, “And what do you know about _Dostoevsky_ \- nice pronunciation, by the way - Mr Chemistry Major?” He laughs good-naturedly at that, simply saying, “Not much, only what you’ve told me during one of your impassioned literary rants.”

And there it was again. He wasn’t even consciously trying, and yet, a simple sentence about how observant he was during your conversations - even your meaningless drunken ones - was enough to make you feel all warm inside. God, that made you sound like a pathetic teenager with a little schoolgirl crush. Well, the sentiment wasn’t too far off. 

When the student accommodations center first informed you that someone had contacted them in response to your ad, you were surprised to hear that it was Kuroo Tetsurou. With your reputation, you had had tough luck finding a roommate, so finding out that someone so… _different_ from you was interested in sharing an apartment with you was unexpected. 

Since you had first joined the university, your grunge aesthetic, tattoos and quiet manner made many write you off as an outcast. Seeing you leaning outside the campus wall, donning your leather jacket and thigh highs, with a cigarette in your hand told them that you were a no-good delinquent. And of course, it seemed that everyone believed that your sex life was their business, from gossiping about who they’d seen you leave a party with, to even spreading fake rumors about your supposed STDs. 

High school and its cliques may have been a thing of the past, but it quickly became apparent that college was still going to be _far_ from easy for you. 

While you were both diligent when it came to maintaining your grades and staying on top of assignments, you and Kuroo had little else in common. His bedhead may have initially thrown people off about his character, they quickly realized that he was really just a dorky chemistry nerd. His easy-going demeanour and confidence made it hard for people to dislike him, earning him a multitude of friends. Add on the fact that he was a regular on the volleyball team, and you had the literal golden boy of the college. 

So, yes, seeing how different he appeared to you, you could be forgiven for assuming that you two wouldn’t interact any more than strictly necessary. Or maybe, it was time for you to work through that deeply ingrained cynicism so you’d accept that people had nuances to their personalities, and realize that Kuroo might actually not be that bad a friend to have.

From the very beginning, Kuroo remained extremely respectful, making no comment about your appearance or hookups or anything. You enjoyed your conversations with him, which ranged from discussions about science and literature, to some less-than-intellectual banter. He’d even invite you to hang out with his friends, and you quickly grew fond of the flamboyant Bokuto and the witty Akaashi. 

You developed a particularly close friendship with his best friend, Kenma, whose quieter demeanour and lack of care for rigid societal norms you found reminiscent of your own personality. In little ways like introducing you to his friends, or taking a keen interest in your hobbies, Kuroo managed to get on your good side. Overall, his intelligence, lack of superficiality, and general dorkiness made him extremely easy to get along with. 

So, of course, your little heart decided that it would be a good idea to fall for him. _Hard_. 

✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵

It was a quiet Saturday night - both of you had chosen to stay at home rather than have a night out, which was quite unusual. Kuroo had announced earlier that he would be busy finishing the last of his most recent assignment, leaving you by yourself for the evening. You, however, were currently preoccupied with another worry. 

Sitting on the kitchen counter, you fidget with your ear piercings - and then stop once you realize, remembering Kuroo telling you about how that could lead to infections. You’re fixated on the phone by your side; you will yourself to just pick it up and dial the number, but you find that you’re unable to move. 

Closing your eyes and inhaling deeply, you finally force movement, picking up the device and dialing the number before you could back out. As the ringing sounds throughout the kitchen, you will yourself to focus on different objects around the kitchen in an effort to remain grounded. _‘Stove, fridge, microwave, cabinet-”_ until you hear the soft click, indicating that your call has been answered. 

“Hi, mom.”

“Good evening.”

“So, uh, how are-”

“(Y/n), is there a purpose for this call? I am not interested in wasting my time on small talk.”

Wincing at the sharp tone, you continue, a little shakily this time, “It was my birthday last week. I… I expected you to call.” There’s silence on the other end. Then, you hear, “I see. If that is the purpose of this call, I would strongly advise that you use your phone credit for more useful things next time. Please let me know if you require any more spending money. If that is all, I will be hanging up now. Goodnight.”

And with that, the call is over. 

Only minutes ago, you had been an agitated mess, anxiety bubbling within you at the thought of contacting your mother. Now, you find yourself in a completely different state entirely. Your previously frenzied thoughts begin to slow down as you feel the amalgamation of cold anger and disappointment rise from your chest. You had spent years of your life harbouring a bitter grudge against your neglectful mother, resenting her for being too cold to spare even an ounce of affection towards you. 

Now, however, the disappointment is only in yourself. After all, it’s not like she had ever put on any false pretenses about being interested in developing any kind of personal relationship with you - this had been made painfully apparent in the business-like manner in which she ensured that you had the adequate financial support for survival, but had made no other effort to contact you beyond that. 

And yet, every time, you couldn't help yourself from calling in hopes that things would suddenly change - wasn’t that the literal definition of _insanity_? 

Well, it made you feel like shit every time. 

And so you sit there, knees pulled up to your chest as you stew in the suffocating weight of your own melancholia, dread threatening to consume you whole. You don’t even notice the stray tears wetting your cheeks. 

“So, I’m finally done with my paper, and I was thinking, maybe we could order from that- hey, are you okay?” 

You were also too preoccupied to notice that Kuroo, having finished his work, had decided to search for you so you could get dinner. Hastily, you wipe your cheeks, feeling self-conscious at having been caught in such a vulnerable state.

Facing him with an insincere smile, you joke, “Yeah, all good. Just having a little pity party for one.”

Frowning at your pathetic attempt at feigning nonchalance when it was apparent that you were upset, he takes cautious steps towards your form. You can’t help the slight tinge of uneasiness that inches up your spine at the feeling of being watched by his sharp, feline eyes. You were well aware of Kuroo’s habit of observing and scrutinizing the people around him, and the thought of him seeing you so emotionally exposed scared you. 

But then he’s in front of you, and in the softest you’ve ever heard him speak, he asks, “Is it okay if I give you a hug?” 

Damn Kuroo for being thoughtful enough to first ask whether or not your present self was comfortable with physical affection. Damn him for doing so in a manner so gentle, it makes your heart ache. And damn you for nodding so frantically, it’s almost _pathetic_ , before practically _jumping_ into his arms. 

Warmth. The first thing you register is how _warm_ his body is against yours as he pulls you closer to his chest. The second, is the feeling of _safety_ that comes with having his strong arms wrapped around your waist as he sets his chin to rest on your head. He’s practically cradling you now as you cling on to him, desperate to remain as close to his form as possible. 

Inhaling deeply, you relax slightly as you bury your face in his shirt. His scent is a mixture of his fabric softener, mint shampoo and fresh-ground coffee, all blended into a calming concoction that’s so uniquely _Kuroo,_ that you find yourself getting lost in the comfort of it. However, the logical side of your mind realizes how dangerous it is to prolong this hug any further, given that it’d just make you fall _harder_.

And so, with reluctance, you pull away. 

“How about we order in? Then we can sit down and talk. Or, we can sit and not talk, if that’s what you want.”

It’s not too long before you’re facing Kuroo on the living room couch, a steaming after-dinner mug of green tea in your hands as you slowly pick off little pieces of the mental armour that you had shrouded yourself in over the years to maintain some semblance of mental stability. Kuroo listens intently, allowing you to speak your heart out, and only interjecting once you’re done. 

“Well, she was never explicitly... abusive, per-se. She always made sure I had food and a roof on my head, paid for a good education, and provided practically everything that I needed for survival. She’s just… _cold_. There were never any birthday parties, sit-down dinners, or family movie nights. And sometimes, I tell myself that it’s okay, that I don’t need these things to be happy. But then I see these families around me, so happy, and so in love - that’s when it hits me how much I’m missing out on.”

“That’s… that’s not okay either, (Y/n). A parent can’t just do the bare minimum - paying for your expenses and taking care of you - and then expect to get off from providing for your emotional needs too. You realize that, right?” he asks, concern clear in his features. Sighing, he continues, “Parenting is more than just providing financial support or ensuring your child’s survival, and your mom seems to be neglecting that.”

You had spent years believing that your feelings were invalid, seeing as your mother had ensured that you had whatever you needed to survive and receive a sound education. Still, you noticed that something was wrong when you’d visit friends and watch them hug their parents, or receive warm compliments from them. You had never felt the joy of such small gestures that were often taken for granted. So now, it felt nice hearing someone else validate your feelings. 

Hearing Kuroo let out a frustrated groan, you hear him say, “I’m sorry, (Y/n).” Raising a brow, you remark, “Why? It’s not your-”

“No, I’m sorry you weren’t given the childhood you deserve. And I’m sorry you don’t have the kind of relationship you want with your mother. I’m not going to pretend I can completely understand what you’re going through, and I’m certainly not going to try to tell you how to ‘fix’ it or anything. I just hope you know that I’m here, okay?” He says it with such solemnity and sincerity that you believe him.

And then, in a small voice, you ask, “Kuroo, is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?” Several seconds pass, and you’re almost scared he didn’t hear you. Or worse, he did, and was weirded out. But before you can delve into another whirlpool of anxious thoughts, he answers. 

_“I wasn’t planning on leaving you alone tonight anyway.”_

Leading you by your hand to his room, he gestures for you to get into his bed, throwing in some comment telling you to make yourself comfortable. He switches off the lights, leaving the room pitch black save for the sliver of moonlight creeping in through a gap in the curtains. “You prefer having a little bit of light when you sleep, right?” he asks. You nod dumbly, and it’s only when he’s slipping under the sheets to lie next to you that you realize that he probably couldn’t see you. 

The warmth radiating from his body is comforting, and you find yourself tempted to reach out to him, already missing the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms. This time, however, you decide to show some restraint. Your train of thought is broken when you feel him set his hand on yours, fingers gently rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Hey, you’re tense as a board. Relax, it’s just me. Try to get some sleep, yeah?” 

Allowing your eyes to flutter shut, it finally hits you just how exhausted you are - both physically and mentally. You seek comfort in the sensation of his calloused fingers lightly kissing your knuckles, the back-and-forth motion of it slowly lulling you into a slumber. And then, just as you’re about to give into the blackness of sleep, you feel the faint brush of his lips against your forehead. 

When you wake up the next morning, you find your hand still entwined with his. You allow yourself one last glance at him - he’s still sound asleep, and breathtakingly gorgeous. 

(Even with his head squashed up between two pillows in a ridiculous position that you’re yet to understand the physics behind.) 

And then, with a heavy heart, you turn your back to him and tread out of his room soundlessly.

✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵

You were never sure when it would hit, or if it was even necessary for something to trigger it in the first place. But when it came, you could feel it looming over you like a dark cloud. Even the most simple task - taking a shower, or doing the dishes - seemed too _tedious_. And so, at some point in your adulthood, you had gravitated towards drowning it out with booze, like downing a bottle was supposed to somehow exorcise the vicious demon occupying your mind. 

“Sorry, did my roommate mysteriously transform into a sixty year old man? ‘Cause there’s no other valid explanation for why you’re drinking _straight up gin_.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you respond drily, “It’s not too hard on the wallet. Besides, it gets the job done quickly,” before taking another swing. There’s a harsh burn, like flames licking your throat - it makes you wince, but the growing warmth in your stomach is pleasant enough. Noticing that he’s clad in a crisp blue formal shirt (which hugs his lean figure just right), you ask, “Speaking of sixty year old men, why are you dressed like one?” 

Deadpanning, Kuroo retorts back, “Ha ha, very funny. I, for once, actually have a date.” 

A date. He’s going on a _date_. 

Feigning nonchalance at his statement, you attempt a light tone, “Hah, a date? You? Which poor soul did you bribe into going out with you?” And then he’s saying something, but you’re too preoccupied with the waves of green bubbling inside you, the knowledge that he was interested in someone else only feeding your insecurity. You take a swing from the bottle, eager for the burn, the warmth, the buzz - anything to distract you. 

His eyes widen momentarily, and he lets out an uneasy chuckle, saying, “Hey, drunkie, c’mon, maybe it’s time to put down the bottle, huh?” And rationally, you know that he’s speaking out of concern. But well, you weren’t exactly in the most rational state of mind then. You simply settle for a terse, “I’m fine, Kuroo.” 

Frowning at the laconic statement, he reaches an arm towards the bottle, speaking seriously now, “No, really, I think you’ve had enough. Why are you drinking so much anyway? It’s a little worrying, (Y/n).” You back away stubbornly, retorting, “Don’t be condescending, Kuroo. I’m _not_ a child, and I certainly don’t need you to take care of me!”

He raises an eyebrow in surprise at your hostile tone, but nonetheless, holds a calm tone and says, “Look, (Y/n), I didn’t say it to patronize you, I’m genuinely concerned here. Clearly, there’s something going on with you, and I’m worried. So could you please put the bottle down and just talk to me here?”

But you’re too far gone now. 

The sardonicism in your tone is sharp as you taunt, “Oh, you’re _worried_ , are you? Sure you fucking are. You’re just going to end up like everyone else, pretending to care until you get whatever it is you’re vying for. What is it, Kuroo?” His eyes narrow as you laugh drily, continuing, “Gonna be nice to me so I get your _dick wet_? Or is it because of something as pathetic as _pity_? Whatever it is, I don’t need you or your concern, or anyone else’s for that matter.” 

Inhaling sharply, he scoffs, “What the _fuck_ are you going on about? Is the cynicism so deeply ingrained that you can’t even tell when someone _genuinely cares about you_? I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve had to live through, but I do know this - trauma is _not_ an excuse for you to be a dick. So if you’re so worried about people abandoning you, maybe stop trying to actively push them away first.”

“Whatever, Kuroo, just leave me alone.” 

Regaining his composure, he speaks in a more controlled tone, “Okay, you’re very drunk right now, and clearly, we’re not going to get anywhere like this. I want to resolve this as soon as possible, so I hope you’ll be okay with talking later tonight.” 

Then you hear the doorbell ring, and Kuroo’s walking to go answer it. No longer in the mood to continue drinking, you place the bottle back inside the cabinet before retreating back to your room. In the hallway, you catch a glimpse of the girl - you remember her from a Philosophy class. You want nothing more than to simply disappear to your room, but she catches your eye and smiles, waving. 

Her smile is genuine enough that you feel compelled to wave back. 

✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵

They’re probably at some chic little cafe now right. Or maybe, Kuroo has taken her to that fancy bar downtown, the one that he loves so much. 

(The one that you took him to one night when he got tired of stressing out over a paper. He spent the night barraging you with dorky chemistry pick-up lines, and you spent it wishing he actually meant them.) 

Wherever they were, they were probably having the time of their lives. And there you were, sitting on the kitchen floor, waiting for your booty call to show up. The alcohol-induced buzz from earlier was crashing down rapidly, giving wake to a sickening wave of nausea that filled you with repulsion. Groaning at the dull ache in your temples, you lean further up against the kitchen island and allow your head to fall back.

God, you _really_ fucked up this time. 

You force your eyes open, keeping them trained on the white tube light above you. It’s easier that way, because everytime you close them, you can’t help but relive the look of _disappointment_ on his face in response to what you said. Hearing him call you out on your behaviour was hard to deal with, but it hurt more realizing that _he wasn’t wrong._

And now, you had pushed him away. Now, he was with another girl, but as jealous as you were, you knew that holding any animosity towards her would be wrong. You were certainly not going to hop on any kind of ‘girl-hate’ train, especially with the fact that she was actually _nice_. Nice, like Kuroo deserved.

Hearing the bell sound, you lift yourself up and take sluggish steps towards the door. Unlocking it, you step aside, allowing him to saunter in, hands casually placed in his pockets. 

“Hey, Makki-kun.”

“Hey yourself, (Y/n)-chan. Been a while since you called me over,” he responds back. The statement is simple enough, but you can see the concern in his eyes. Brushing it off, you match his casual tone, “Just been a little busy these past few weeks. Figured I could do with a little stress relief right now.” 

(You don’t tell Makki about how you haven’t been able to entertain the thought of sleeping with anyone for a while now. Not when you kept reverting back to thinking about _him_.)

Gripping your waist, he murmurs, “Well, let’s get to it then, yeah?” before pulling you into a kiss. He knows his way towards your bedroom, and he has no trouble leading you to it without breaking the kiss. You two have done this a million times before, so it’s not surprising. 

Still, it also means that he knows when you’re not into it. 

Pulling away, he frowns, asking, “Hey, what’s up?” You attempt to brush him off again, but this time, he interrupts, “Nah, cut the bullshit. I can tell there’s something going on, so again, what’s up?” 

Shaking your head, you sigh, “Nothing, Makki, I’ve just been feeling kinda shitty and I wanted a distraction. But I don’t think I’m up for anything, so I’m sorry for wasting your time. You can leave if you want.” You wince slightly upon feeling him flick your forehead. 

“Oi, dumbass, what’s with all this about ‘wasting my time’? You sound like you’re writing an email or something. Look, even with the whole ‘benefits’ thing, we’re still friends, y’know. So, unless you plan on physically kicking me out - and good luck trying that, _chibi-chan_ \- I’m going to keep pestering you until you talk.” 

And so, you two end up sitting side-by-side on your bedroom floor, leaning against the bed. You talk, and he listens - save for the occasional witty remark at your expense because it _is_ Makki after all. 

“So what you’re saying is, you’re in deep for this dude, but you’re too much of a pussy to tell him about it. Gotcha.”

Shooting him a glare, you counter, “Dude, this isn’t some kind of internet fanfiction where I just confess to him, we magically end up together and live happily ever after. What if he gets weirded out and it makes things awkward? I really like him, Makki, and I don’t want to risk fucking up our friendship.” 

Raising his eyebrows and turning away, he sighs, “Like I said, you’re a pussy.” Holding his hands up in defense upon seeing you go to smack him with a pillow, he adds, “Hey, in all seriousness though, it’s clearly been bothering you for a while, so don’t you think it’d be better to just get it out there?”

Turning to you, he continues, “So if he likes you, then he likes you. If not, then you’ll know for sure. Besides, if he’s as cool a guy as you claim, then I doubt he’d let something like this ruin your friendship. So now, just wait for him to get back, resolve your little argument, and then tell him.” 

You consider his advice - it was easier said than done, and there was definitely a risk, but it made sense. You’re about to thank him, before he playfully adds, “Oh, and take a shower first. You reek.” And then, you’re back to reaching for that pillow. 

✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵⋆✵

You’re not alone for too long before you hear the door being unlocked, signalling that Kuroo was back. A moment passes before he enters the living room, where he finds you seated on the couch, phone in hand. For a second, your eyes lock in an awkward silence. You’re hesitant to break it, but upon seeing no sign of hostility on his features, you speak. 

“Hey. How did the date go?”

“Hey yourself. And, it didn’t go anywhere, really. She was nice enough, but we didn’t really click. I wasn’t really expecting much anyway, she was just a mutual friend that Bokuto had introduced me to.”

You simply nod at that. (You feel horrible about how hearing that fills you with relief, but you can’t help yourself.)

“Hey, Kuroo, I was about to order some takeout for dinner. Though, now that I think about it, you’ve probably already eaten, right?” you ask. Before you can say anything, he quickly interjects, “Actually, I wasn’t too fond of the food from the restaurant, so I didn’t eat much. Takeout sounds good. So, pizza?”

Smiling, you nod and affirm, “Pizza. Could you place the order? I was just going to go shower.” He returns your smile before goofily raising a thumbs-up. He already knows your order by-heart anyway. 

When you’re done showering, you blindly reach into your laundry hamper, fishing out the first piece of cotton clothing that you find, as well as some shorts. It’s only after you’ve dressed that you realize that it’s one of _his_ shirts - you must’ve accidentally placed it in your pile on laundry day. You contemplate taking it off. 

(And then, you see yourself in the mirror, and you realize that you don’t want to.) 

It’s when you two are finally sat down on the couch, that you bring up the events from earlier. 

“Kuroo, about earlier... I’m sorry. I was being an asshole and I said some very hurtful things to you. I didn’t seriously mean them, but that’s not an excuse, so… I’m sorry, and I hope you can forgive me.” 

Clearing his throat, he responds seriously, “I can forgive you, (Y/n). And, I’m sorry, too. I may have been a tad bit too aggressive in my wording, and the last thing I’d ever want is to hurt you.”

It’s simple, it’s sweet, but you two may have to discuss the matter more another time. For now, though, it’s enough. It’s not long before you two are seated on the couch in front of the TV, pizza slices in hand. He’s decided to put on some melodramatic soap opera, claiming that he wanted to watch it ‘ _ironically_ ’. Choosing not to lecture him on the misuse of the word, you simply sit back and join him in laughing at the cheesy dialogue and absurdity of the plot. 

At some point after you’ve finished eating and washing up, the night begins to grow surprisingly chilly. Kuroo returns back with a blanket for you two to share before you continue watching. Still, it’s not enough, and he points out as much when he notices you shivering. 

Gesturing his arms towards himself, he prompts, “C’mere. Body heat and all that, y’know.” You hesitate momentarily, before finally moving to sit between his legs. Pulling the blanket back up, he wraps his arms around your form before pulling you back into his chest. You’re immediately enclosed in a comforting blanket of warmth, and you can’t help but inhale.

 _Mint. Coffee. Kuroo._

At this point, you find yourself entirely unable to focus on the screen, giving up and simply losing yourself in the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around your middle. The warmth of his body, so close to yours, is _addictive_ , and you find yourself moving closer still, desperate to savour every second of this precious moment. 

Noticing your slight movements, he tightens the grip he has on you. One of his hands trails up towards your hair, fingers gently running through your locks in a soothing motion. Closing your eyes, you murmur quietly without thinking, “Kuroo... you’re so good to me. Why can’t I find someone like you?” 

It’s only when you feel his form stiffen that you realize what you’ve just said. But before you can splutter out an apology, or say anything for that matter, he speaks.

“Why would you want someone _like_ me, when you can just _have me_?”

And just like that, he relaxes again, and continues his ministrations with your hair. This time, however, you feel his lips ghosting along the exposed skin of your shoulders - treading lightly, as if waiting for you to object. When you say nothing, he presses more firmly, tilting his head to reach into the crook of your neck. 

In between kisses, he whispers, “Do you know how much I’ve been wanting to do this? Holding you in my arms? Kissing you? Calling you _mine_?” You’re about to respond, to tell him about how you’ve wanted all of it, wanted _all of him_ , too. But then, he’s lightly nipping your neck, and you’re too busy gasping out to respond. 

Turning around swiftly, you slot yourself into his lap before wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his. You practically yank him against you, and he reciprocates the action with equal fervour, holding your hips in an iron grip as he groans into your mouth. The kiss is ravenous - it’s messy, it’s desperate, and into it, you pour your bliss of finally, _finally_ having him. 

Gesturing for you to wrap your legs around his waist, he places his hands under your thighs before lifting you up and advancing towards his room. You cling on to his shoulders and keep your lips melded together, desperate to maintain contact. 

(And now that you know what kissing him feels like, you think that breaking away from him will feel worse than death.) 

Entering his room, he sits down on the edge of the bed, with you still firmly planted in his lap. Exhaling heavily, you take a minute to sit back and properly look at him. Once again, his room is bathed in a silvery sheen of moonlight. A shimmery beam falls on his face, illuminating every feature, from his feline eyes, to his chiseled jawline.

Beautiful. He is breathtakingly _beautiful_. 

You chuckle at the growing crimson of his cheeks when you tell him as much, finding humor in the flustered state of the scheming man. But then he’s looking up at you - eyes filled with adoration - as if you’re the most _exquisite_ masterpiece he has ever seen, and the temporarily light mood burns into something more intense. 

You reach for the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his naked skin against yours. Tossing the shirt aside, he reaches for yours, before smirking upon realizing that it’s one of his. But then your shirt is pulled off, and his eyes widen, cheshire grin now gone.

His eyes are trained on the small barbell pierced through your left nipple. 

_“Holy shit.”_

It’s your turn to grin now, watching him attempt to regain his composure again. He’s eyeing it curiously, but not making any further move. Quietly, almost as if speaking to himself more so than to you, he murmurs, “I read somewhere that it makes them extra sensitive.” 

“You wanna test that hypothesis?”

He jolts back, taking one last look at you before cautiously rubbing his thumb against it. You release a quiet whimper at that, and it’s as if your voice has somehow catalyzed his movement. Holding you in place with his hands on your hips, he tilts his head forward to take the bud into his mouth, sucking on it. Hearing your sounds get louder, he grows more confident, sucking harder while palming your other breast with a free hand. 

Deciding that you need more, you gently pull him away from your chest, tilting his head up to engage him in a searing kiss. Without breaking the kiss, he flips you over, leaving you on your back with him perched on top of you. You rid yourselves of your shorts, leaving you two in just your underwear. 

Clearing his throat, he asks hesitantly, “Is it okay if I, uh, if I do something for you?” 

Seeing as you were the more experienced of you two, you assumed that it would be better for you to take care of him first. And you’re about to tell him as much, but he interjects, “Please, if you’ll allow me, I- I _need_ to do this. I’ve thought about it so many times, and now that I can, I want to make you feel good first. Can I?” 

How could you deny him? 

Nodding shakily, you lay back and allow him to do as he pleases. Moving from the cut of your jawline, down to your clavicle, he continues trailing kisses, leaving a burning path in his wake. When he reaches your ribcage, he begins tracing his lips across the ink etched on to your skin, meandering along the smooth black lines that cover the canvas that is your body.

Upon receiving your nod of consent, he moves to slip your panties off, tossing them aside in some forgotten corner of the room. You shudder upon feeling his calloused palms caress the softness of your thighs, before placing them on his broad shoulders. But then, he’s planting more kisses on the expanse of your thighs, and you whine impatiently, gently pulling his hair to guide him to where you need him _most_. He chuckles, but nonetheless, indulges you.

The first lick _ruins_ you. 

It’s slow, deliberate, and it covers everything, his tongue moving up from your slit to deep within your folds. You release a sharp whine at that, and hearing it encourages him, because he immediately gets to work on drawing out _more_ of your voice. 

You’ve done this, lived this physical experience a thousand times before, with more people than you can count. And yet, with him, it’s completely _different_. With Kuroo working between your legs, eager to push you off the edge, you feel _sparks_. Electricity courses within your veins, with the pleasure from the epicenter where his tongue is working, _shocking_ every fiber of your being. 

He’s absolutely _relentless_ , wrapping his toned arms around your thighs and forcing himself deeper into your core. His tongue is _vicious_ , swiping up the slickness dripping out of you and abusing your clit. The increasing volume of your cries, the shudder of your thighs against him, the tightening grip of your hands on his hair - it drives him _feral_ , and he only works harder against you.

_And when you orgasm, you feel like you’ve burst into flames._

When he’s finally slipped the condom on, and he’s moving back to lay on top of you, he stills momentarily. You’re still panting from your orgasm, face hot and flushed. Tenderly running his knuckles across your cheek, he asks, “You okay there, sweetheart?” Nodding frantically, you choose to respond by gripping on to his length, moving it towards your slit. 

Receiving the message loud and clear, he inches into you slowly, hissing at the tight fit. You close your eyes and sigh at the stretch, reveling in the feeling of finally connecting with him in the most _intimate_ way possible. Then he’s pulling and thrusting back in, and your eyes fall wide open as you gasp at the pressure. Your nerves are still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and so, you find yourself crying out at the feeling of his pelvic bone brushing against your swollen clit.

He groans upon feeling your nails bite into the skin on his back as you tighten your grip, desperate to cling on to him. He’s your _pillar_ , your _grounding_ , and you need to hold on to him to keep yourself from _flying away completely_. As his hips continue pounding into yours, you force yourself to remain sentient, frantic to permanently _etch_ the feeling of his body connecting with yours into your memory. 

“T-Tetsurou, you’re mine, right?”

Swallowing thickly, he grunts, “I’m all _yours_ , sweetheart. I’ve _always_ been yours.” 

_Yours, yours, yours_. He was _your_ Kuroo. No, _your Tetsurou_. 

With that reassurance, you allow yourself to finally slip off the edge and plummet down, dragging him along with you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck before groaning loudly, fingers digging deep into your hips as he feels you tighten around his length and reach your own orgasm. 

The room is quiet now, save for your exhaling breaths. Laying side by side, you two look at each other before breaking out in content smiles. Knotting the condom and discarding it, he returns to your side before pulling you to rest on his chest. 

Kissing your forehead, he exhales heavily before tilting your head to face him. Eyes sincere, he speaks softly, “I hope you realize how important you are to me, and how much I care about you. I know there’s a lot you have going on in your head, and I’m here. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. I love you, (Y/n).”

Seeing your eyes widen, he chuckles, adding, “You don’t have to say it back now. I know you have a thing about that, I get it. I just hope that one day you’re comfortable enough to do so.” You smile slightly at that, before speaking. 

“ _Thank you_ , Tetsurou.” 

“Hah, for what? The orgasms? Mmm, you’re welcome, you clearly enjoyed those,” he teases, waggling his eyebrows. 

You laugh at his dorkiness, but a quick glance at his eyes tells you that he _knows_. He knows _exactly_ what you meant. An easy smile falls on your face as you look at him, watching as he attempts another go at humour. You know that he’s not a magic cure to all your problems - it would be unfair to expect that from anyone but yourself anyway. But now, you wouldn’t be alone. He’s _yours_ , and he’s _there_. 

**_And maybe, just maybe, you would be okay._ **


End file.
